


it's just politics as usual

by hapsburgs



Series: by nature political animals [2]
Category: Gallagher Girls Series - Ally Carter
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 15:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2587322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hapsburgs/pseuds/hapsburgs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rebecca Baxter's internship in the West Wing does not go as planned, mostly because of Elizabeth Sutton. <br/>(she can't decide if that's a bad thing or not)</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's just politics as usual

**Author's Note:**

> HA LEAH BET YOU DIDN'T EXPECT THIS YOU JUST GOT OLIVIA POPE'D 
> 
> also what is accurate characterization i feel like liz and bex are so out of character but i could never write second gen well oh well.

“Who the fuck is this?”

Rebecca Baxter feels the heat rush through her face, and she blinks three times, trying to swallow the pit forming in her throat because _the President of the United States is looking right at her_.

She rolls her shoulders back, lets out a long breath, and curls her lips into a cool, megawatt smile. “Rebecca Baxter, ma’am. It’s an-”

“Christ, we’re even outsourcing our interns now?” President Goode scoffs, taking her seat at the head of the table in the Situation Room, the rest of the National Security Council following suit.

“She’s the daughter of the British Ambassador.” Patricia Buckingham, Joint Chief of Staff, replies without even looking up from her laptop, and Rebecca falters _just_ slightly.

“And who doesn’t love nepotism?” Madam President smirks humorlessly. “God, who doesn’t love Washington?”

“As I was saying,” Rebecca continues, “I am quite honored-”

“I didn’t give you permission to speak.” The President raises her hand, cutting Rebecca off, all traces of humor gone from her face. “In fact, I doubt you have the clearance to even be in this meeting, so I would find it best if you left.”

Her eyes widen, heart beating a tad harder in her chest.

“But -”

“I believed I asked you to leave. Do not make me ask twice.” She flicks her hand decisively, and Rebecca slips out of the door, horrified, without another word.

She can feel the President’s harsh reprimands echoing in her ears, and suddenly, the busy hallways of the West Wing feel too hot, too claustrophobic.

“You know you can’t be out here, right?” A small voice asks from the door behind her. Bex exhales, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against the wall. “This deck is reserved for upper clearance officers, only.”

It’s a petite blonde who finds her on the balcony, standing in the hot late-spring sun. She has glasses hanging off of her nose, and her pink sweater is almost garishly bright.

“I just needed air, thanks.” She snaps, harsher than she means and the blonde looks a little taken aback, before letting out a long sigh.

“First day?”

“Yeah, actually.” She laughs bitterly.

“I would say it gets easier, but it doesn’t.” The blonde retreats with a small smile back inside. “Welcome to Washington.”

* * *

“How long have you been here for?” Rebecca doesn’t bother with simple formalities as she approaches the petite blonde sitting alone at the corner table in the Navy Mess, holding a book with one hand and a sandwich with the other.

“In Washington or at lunch?” The girl’s lips quirk in a smile, and Rebecca lets out a small huff. “I’ve been working here for about three months.” She puts down her book, offering Rebecca her hand. “Liz Sutton.”

“Bex.” She shakes it firmly.

“Sit, Bex. And join me.” Liz smiles politely, and Bex glances around slightly, like someone is about to jump out and reprimand her at any moment, before taking her seat.

"Is she always so...intense?" Bex asks under her breath, and Liz laughs slightly.

"Absolutely, and I believe she's entitled to, being leader of the free world." She smiles comfortingly. "But no doubt you wanted a high pressure environment, working in NSC?"

"How'd you know that?"

"It's intern season." Liz shrugs. "Everyone kind of scouts them out. You're Rebecca Baxter, by way of UCL, daughter of the British ambassador."

"And _you're_ not an intern, then?" She carefully appraises the slip of a girl across from her, who looks no more than twelve in her pastel sweater and pigtails.

"Graduated from MIT early." Elizabeth rises to her feet. "And some advice, Bex - don't let this job get the best of you. There are plenty of people in the West Wing out for blood, and I would _hate_ to see you leave."

* * *

Everyone can tell when the President is coming because the normally bustling, hyper West Wing falls silent, except for the dull hush of Secret Service whispering in their earpieces and the sharp clack of designer stilettos on the floor.

" _Shit_ ," Bex hisses, because yes technically she is supposed to be observing a Senate vote on foreign aid but lounging across Liz's desk trading gossip is much more entertaining.

"Let's go over demographics in the Southwest." The President orders as a greeting, and Bex is in awe of how unflappable Liz remains. The blonde rises to her feet with a grin, opening her laptop.

"Of course, Madam President." And it surprises Bex how much the President seems to respect the small girl. As she watches them debate Mexican American voting history, Bex observes how easily they bounce off of each other, how the notoriously indomitable Catherine Goode seems relatively tame.

"Nice work, Liz." The President nods, thanking the polling expert. As she exits, her eyes catch Bex's for a split second, and she lets out a frustrated sigh.

"I don't even want to _know_ why you're here."

* * *

She ends up becoming Liz’s roommate, because Washington is expensive as fuck, and she doesn’t want to live all the way on the other side of the Potomac (and _no_ , she will not live at the Embassy with her parents - she does not need to give in to the whispers of _favoritism_ that surround her).

Liz’s apartment in Adams-Morgan is filled with lace and fluffy pillows, and always smells like freshly baked cookies. The walls are yellow and the floors are the light, warped wood and there are hand made blankets from Liz’s grandmother on every chair.

And living with Liz is nice - knowing that she isn’t so alone in this cutthroat Washington world. It constantly shocks her, how someone as sweet and sensitive as Elizabeth Sutton could remain standing in the White House, and have so expertly carved her own place there.

It’s always amazing, coming home from long, unpaid hours of being yelled at by her superiors to find Liz already home, hair flecked with flour and batter splattered on the counter as she makes brownies. She’ll have on Willie Nelson, or some other old country artist, and she’ll be singing along slightly out of tune, dancing around like the dork she is, and Bex will lean on the doorway, an absent-minded smile on her face as she watches.

( _But since when did Liz’s apartment become ‘home’?_ )

So she and Liz will eat sweets for dinner, and Bex will tell her about all the important people that reprimanded her and Liz will share gossip from the polling center. Liz will curl up on the couch in her long night gown, looking straight out of the 19th century, and watch one of the terribly cliched reality singing shows that she loves and always cries while watching, and Bex will pour over even more work, wondering why she even took this stupid fucking internship, and then she’ll catch Liz praying so hard for the seventeen-year-old cancer survivor to go into the semifinals that Bex will kind of forget what she was thinking about.

And then they’ll both collapse onto Liz’s bed next to each other, dead tired, and sometimes as they’re falling asleep Liz’s hand brushes her and no, she doesn’t think about it too much.

( _Yes, Liz only has one bedroom and yes, there was a fight where Bex offered to sleep on the couch but Liz insisted on sharing_ ).

So maybe they’re kind of dating? Bex doesn’t really know, doesn’t really know that about Liz and it kind of confuses her, but she doesn’t ask about it and _certainly_ doesn’t think about it.

* * *

 (“What are you looking at?” Liz asks her, sometimes, when she catches Bex watching her dancing around her kitchen to country music, uninhibited and free of the dangerous Washington air.

One day, Bex hopes, she will have the courage to answer, “ _You_.”)

* * *

It’s her last week in D.C., and suddenly the thought of going back to London for Uni kind of troubles her, because sure, she’s missed England, and even though the internship was immensely rewarding, it was also complete hell, but then there’s _Liz_ and -

Maybe she loves her.

Fuck.

She’s so fucking fucked.

Running around the West Wing that day, she can barely even focus on hostage situations or drone strikes or anything required by her job, really. Instead her mind is on _Liz, Liz with her blonde hair, Liz with her dumb smiles and ‘oopsie daisies’, Liz with her southern drawl and stories of sitting on her grandparent’s porch on humid summer nights, Liz Liz LizLizLizLiz -_

“Bex!” It’s Liz, and of course it is, because, you know, working in the White House is literally like being on a bad sitcom. “Can we talk for a second?”

“I’m kind of busy…” She chokes out, eyes widening and palms sweating because _fuckfuckfuckfuck -_

“Only a moment.” Liz smiles, so warm and sweet like she understands she’s busy and overwhelmed but her words will make everything better.

So she lets Liz lead her down the busy hallway, and at that moment doesn’t really question being led into a storage closet filled with old campaign signs.

“Sorry, I just wanted to talk alone.” Liz says sheepishly, blushing a little at the implications of being in a closet in the West Wing. “You know, there’s always so many nosy people around…”

Bex nods dumbly, like this entire scenario makes sense.

“Are you okay?” Liz asks bluntly, crossing her arms over her chest and suddenly, she looks really concerned but also pretty adorable. “I mean, you’ve been acting kind of weird, and you totally don’t have to tell me if you don’t want, but I’m just kind of worried I guess.”

"I'm...fine." Bex exhales, lungs squeezing around her heart so hard it burns.

And then she kisses her.

Liz makes a little squeak of surprise, but thankfully doesn’t protest. She tastes like the shitty White House coffee, and _god_ , how Bex will miss this. This kiss is kind of awkward because Liz is so much shorter and everything is kind of bumping into them, but Bex hardly minds.

Consequently, they don’t hear the distinctive click of designer stilettos becoming louder and louder.

“Honestly, how many storage closets - Oh.” The President, at least, does not look too scandalized. Liz is flailing a bit, campaign signs flying everywhere, and Bex’s eyes widen and it’s like they are unfortunately frozen, lips stuck together. “Honestly,” The President sighs, “It’s like I’m living in a fucking sitcom.”

Bex doesn’t miss President Goode’s small smirk as she shuts the door.


End file.
